


Taking Care of Sammy

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs a little help taking care of himself. Dean, of course, lends a hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Care of Sammy

“No offense but … your hair is kind of gnarly, man,” Dean says, trying to soften his words with an apologetic grimace. 

Sam sighs, reaching up to touch his hair with his good hand and making a face at the tangles and greasiness. It hasn’t been easy, trying to remember to take care of himself while trying to find Dean, while trying to find a _cure_ for Dean, and he says as much to his brother. 

“Besides, I’m not the most coordinated with this thing on,” he finishes, gesturing at the sling on his arm. He shifts a little under Dean’s contemplating gaze, and is relieved when his brother finally changes the subject. 

Of course, it’s not that easy. Back at the motel, Dean stops him on his way into the bathroom. Frowning, Sam tries to get around him and huffs in frustration when Dean won’t budge. 

“What?” he grumbles, “I’m gonna go shower, take care of this ‘gnarly hair.’”

“Let me help you.” 

Sam blinks, and then laughs. “What now?” 

“I said let me help. You can, you know, just take a bath and I can help wash your hair. I did it for you all the time when we were kids,” Dean finishes awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

There’s a moment of tense silence, broken by Sam’s sigh. 

“Alright, just let me get in the bath first. I’ll yell.” 

“Yeah. You do that.” 

Feeling a little stunned as he strips, Sam gets lost in the swirl and rise of bubbles and foam as he fills the bathtub. The heat feels good on tired muscles and, yeah, maybe a bath was a good idea. He takes a little time to just sit there, trying to will himself to relax before calling Dean in. 

His brother hesitates in the doorway, looking skittish for a moment before steeling himself to walk the rest of the way in. Dean’s thought to bring one of the plastic motel cups with him, and he sets it on the ledge of the tub as he kneels next to Sam. 

“Scoot up and tip back, Sasquatch.” 

Sam slides forward, angling his head back so Dean can start wetting his hair with cups of water from the bath. Strong fingers work soap through the tangled strands, working the knots free without pulling too much. A warm rush of affection floods through Sam as Dean carefully rinses his hair, shielding his eyes with one hand to keep soap from getting in them. 

There’s a quiet pause when Dean returns the cup to the ledge after the last rinse, and Sam’s almost sad that this brief contact with his brother is over. He opens his eyes at the shuffling noise next to him, expecting to see Dean getting up to leave. What he finds instead is his brother holding a clean washcloth and Sam’s bottle of bodywash. 

“Thought I’d do your back, too,” Dean rushes in a mumble. Sam can only nod. Again, Dean’s touch is steady and firm, but gentle, leaving the younger Winchester cleaner and more relaxed than he’s been in months.

What Sam isn’t expecting is the swipe of the cloth around to his front, over his shoulders, chest, and belly. His eyes fly open as Dean works steadily, unerringly downward until the cloth brushes through the water. It drags just over the tip of his cock, and Sam can’t help the breath he sucks in that the contact. Dean slows for only a moment before continuing his work. The cloth brushes lower and lower until it’s left to float on the surface of the water. 

“Say stop and I will, Sammy,” Dean whispers. He’s cradling Sam’s cock in his hand, rubbing with just this thumb, and Sam’s not sure where the oxygen in the room has gone. “You’re probably all pent up, huh. With your dominant hand in a sling.” 

The strokes start slow, quietly shifting the water. Sam’s eyes are glued to where Dean’s fist is sunk below the surface of the bubbles and he’s only vaguely aware of the moans escaping his lips while Dean jerks him off. Water splashes as Dean speeds up, and somewhere along the way Sam’s good hand has found its way to his brother’s shoulder, clinging tightly. 

“Dean, Dean,” Sam’s pleading, nearly whining, and he knows it, the sound of his voice echoing off the bathroom walls. 

“Yeah, Sammy. I know. It’s okay, little brother.” 

Sam jerks, hips thrusting up into Dean’s grip as he comes. His cry is a low, tortured-sounding thing, the result of too much frustration and pain and fear. He’s a little shocked by the tears that blurr his vision, blinking them away to look at Dean’s face. 

Dean swirls his hand in the water, rinsing himself of come and swiping his hand dry on his shirt. He cups Sam’s face, brushing away the tears before leaning in carefully. Their lips meet when Sam fails to stop him. 

“Sammy.” Soft, so soft that it’s nearly lost even in the quiet of the room. 

Sam reaches up, cradling Dean’s head and resting their foreheads together. 

“Dean.”


End file.
